dimpled with sleeping, his
fair curls in a pretty tumble about his eyes, Baby saw Denny, looking
very sleepy too, but trying hard to hide it.

"Oh," she said, smoothing down her hair and sitting up very straight,
"I've been reading such a long time that my eyes got quite tired; that
was why I shut them."

"Oh indeed!" said mother, but Baby could see that she was smiling at
Denny, though she didn't laugh right out like Fritz and Celia.

They were all very happy, however, with their sandwiches and buns, and
after they had eaten as much as they wanted, auntie taught them a sort
of guessing game, which helped to pass the time, for already Denny and
Fritz were beginning to think even the big saloon carriage rather a
small room to spend a whole day in.

They passed two or three big stations, and then they were allowed to get
out and walk up and down the platform a little, which was a nice change.
But Baby was so dreadfully afraid of any of them being left behind that
he could hardly be persuaded to get out at all, and once when he and
Lisa were waiting alone in the carriage while the others walked about,
and the train moved on a little way to another part, he screamed so
loudly--

"Oh, mother, oh, auntie, oh, ganfather, and Celia, and Fritz, and Denny!
All, all is left behind!"--that there was quite a commotion in the
station, and when the train moved back again, and they all got in, he
was obliged to kiss and hug each one separately, several times over,
before he could feel quite sure he had them all safe and sound, and
that "not nobody" was missing.

It seemed a long time after it got dark, even though the little lamp was
still lighted. But it was not light enough to see to read, and "the big
lamp up in the sky," as Baby said, "was _kite_ goned away." It puzzled
him very much how the sun could go away every night and come back every
morning, and the queerest thing of all was what Celia had told him--that
"away there," in the far-off country where they were going, there would
still be the same sun, the _very_ same sun, that they had seen every
morning peeping up behind the kitchen-garden wall, and whose red face
they had said good-night to on the winter evenings, as he slipped away
to bed down below the old elms in the avenue, where the rooks had their
nests. Somehow as Baby sat in his corner, staring out now and then at
the darkness through which they were whizzing, blinking up sometimes at
the little lamp shining f